A Slow and Steady Fall
by Foureyed-Pufferfish
Summary: His passing came swiftly. The realization that he wouldn't be coming back did not. Ratchet-Centric. Post-Predicon Rising.


"Lucky is the spouse who dies first, who never has to know what survivors endure."  
― Sue Grafton, _F is for Fugitive_

* * *

They expected him to break. They expected him to fall to his knees, to scream, to cry. They expected him to shatter, to crumble under his grief. They expected cursing and anger. They did not expected the calm composure with which he'd held himself.

Once the last of the new sparks had scattered across the planet, far out of their view, Ratchet turned with a powerful sort of grace and began the walk back towards the ground bound Nemesis. A call over his shoulder indicated that he intended for the others to bring his patient back with them. Once home in his well stocked medibay, he resumed work like nothing was amiss.

Ultra Magnus took the news badly once he'd woken from stasis. The military commander stared blankly ahead for a long while before turning to the medic tending him, optics hollow, and muttered a small ''why didn't you stop him?''

Ratchet started back, optics flickering the same emptiness before he turned, ignoring the comment. He resumed his work as before, to everyone's immense worry.

It wasn't until the next morning that the medic showed any sign of grief. When he did not appear for his shift that morning, Arcee ventured to the crew quarters to be sure he'd not offlined in his sleep. The femme found him curled as tight as his bulky frame allowed on the hard berth he'd chosen as his own.

''I'm going back to earth,'' he mumbled into the armor covering his forearm when she sat down. ''Magnus is stable enough to recover on his own, and you have Knock Out if there are any complications. Fowler needs to know the situation, anyway.''

Arcee placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from the touch before settling and allowing himself the comfort. "I miss him too," she'd admitted.

"Yeah,'' his voice was dismissive, absent. Arcee remained silent, realizing that an understanding companion was not what the medic wanted or needed. Optimus' absence would never hurt Arcee like it would for the rest of Ratchet's life.

The trip back to earth was instantaneous but the walk from the space bridge into the soft light of the earth base was the longest walk of Ratchet's extensive life. Four hopeful faces smiled up at him from the catwalk. Fowler was the first to realize something was wrong. He stepped forward, motioning the children back as he climbed into Ratchets offered palm.

They stood silently in the back hallway, Fowler at Ratchets pedes and the medic sitting hunched on the dusty concrete. The weight held by each ex-vent Ratchet gave was painful to listen to. When he finally spoke his voice was impossibly small for such a large being. "Optimus is gone."

Fowler wanted to rant, wanted to question and protest and _scream_ - but the look on the medic's face killed the words before any sound could form. Ratchet's optics seemed sunken back, dimmer than even when he'd been near death after Optimus had dragged him back from his synthetic energon induced rage. His vents worked in small, quick gasps, fans stalling every few moments.

Fowler found himself wondering if giant alien robots could cry.

''Okay," he said, voice as steady as he could manage. "Now what?"

Ratchet visibly pulled himself together. Or attempted to. The brave face lasted mere moments before he crumbled again. "I don't know."

Fowler creeped forward, his form smothered by Ratchet's large frame as he set a gentle hand against the giant's pede. "I'm sorry."

"It was his choice." Ratchet seemed to curl further into himself even though he did not move a single piston.

"Doesn't make it any easier."

Ratchet shook his helm minutely and Fowler was struck by the unfairness of it all. The moment the war ended Ratchet lost the one mech he'd fought to keep alive for so many centuries. Realization came to the man not in a sudden crashing moment but in a rising understanding of what should have been obvious to him long before.

"Ratchet?" The mech glanced up from where he'd buried his helm in his knees. "You loved him, didn't you?"

Ratchet's silence gave Fowler all the answer he needed.


End file.
